


Inheritance

by chrystening



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Business Corporations, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Feelings, First Meeting, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, stark family not important, this was. a request!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 05:04:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15767181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrystening/pseuds/chrystening
Summary: Trying to relax your nerves, you go to the park and find there's a man sitting in the rain.Jon Snow / Male Reader.Requested!





	Inheritance

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request! I finally finished! I didn't even realize the request had been almost a month ago! Fuck!
> 
> *mic in hand*  
> THIS GOES OUT TO YOU, MAYBELENE!
> 
> thanks for requesting and your sweet words :'^)

You had never conducted an exclusive interview of the next heir to one of the biggest multi-million dollar corporations of the country before, but you supposed there was a first time for everything.

That was your roommate’s job—one she was putting on you to perform because she had so conveniently caught the latest seasonal flu. Kate wasn’t from around here. Her warm, delicate southern constitution was weak against the ruthless northern climate.

“I’m _sorryyyy_ …” Kate’s apology trailed into a coughing fit, and you wrinkled your nose. She hacked into a handkerchief, slumping in a ball on the couch.

“It’s so _not_ fine,” you groaned. Anxiety worried at your nerves, eating away at them like termites. You chastised yourself for even agreeing. As if hearing your second thoughts, your friend and roommate trembled, the precursor to her body being taken over by a sneeze. She wheezed afterwards, blowing her nose into her fortieth tissue.

You, overcome with the urge to hug her sickness away but still very much disgusted, took a step back. You sighed.

These people were expecting Kate McLaughlin, suave and sexy but totally professional, who had a penchant for asking the best questions and getting the best answers. You could only imagine their faces once they saw you, a bumbling awkward guy clearly reading off the script she gave you.

You felt jitters start to crawl their way up your spine. Fresh air. Yep. Fresh air would do you good.

“I’m going to go out to the park,” you said, turning to leave.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, hopping across the room. She came back with two umbrellas in tow, one a gaudy yellow and the other a cool black. “It’s supposed to rain today.” She sniffled while handing them out to you.

You took them gingerly, trusting they weren’t infected with her germs.

“Thanks,” you said, grateful but looking utterly unsure.

She waved lazily from the couch as you glumly stepped over the threshold.

-

Elsewhere, Jon Snow’s throat was tight.

Seven pairs of eyes—shocked, confused, angry—slid from the man at the head of the table, to the son who sat quietly at the end. While certainly at the table, Jon was as far removed from the conversation as could be. This must’ve been the first time he had ever warranted the attentions of all of the Starks at these meetings.

“I—“ Catelyn spoke, pale in the face. Jon’s father did not respond. “ _Ned_ —” Catelyn Stark began again, a plead for reason evident in her voice. Ned returned her gaze, and it effectively silenced her. She knew from that look there was no getting to him, no changing his mind. Not from _that_ look. It was the same as when he had come home with that bastard child, eyes solemn but resolute.

Her lips made a thin line as she rose from the table abruptly, and strode to the door without a look back.

“I… Father,” Sansa started. Unlike her mother, who was all vitriol and fury, she was small and hurt. Her gaze flickered to Robb, who was hard to read. Surely if her father was choosing an heir, despite himself being in fine health, it should’ve been her elder brother. _The **true** brother_ , Jon and Sansa both thought.

And if not Robb—Sansa dared to close her gentle palms into a fist on the table—surely, it should’ve been _her,_ the second trueborn child.

 “It’s true,” Ned said frankly, though with a tone that sought to comfort her. “I choose Jon as my heir.”

There was another pause.

Rickon, too young at fifteen years old to care, discreetly checked his phone. Sansa admitted defeat and lowered her head, expression souring. Bran’s eyebrows disappeared past his bangs, his eyes flickering from face to face behind his glasses. He knew he wasn’t going to inherit the company, nor did he care to—he much more preferred working with their cyber security—but the development was still too interesting to resist.

Robb, showing how he felt for the first time, looked to Jon, a congratulatory grin on his lips. Arya beamed, his smile widening as she looked excitedly from her father to her favorite brother, bouncing in her seat.

Not one for tolerating awkward silences and ever a man of brevity, Ned grunted as he stood from his chair. The leather groaned in relief of the weight. “Now,” he said, turning his watch’s face into view. “If you all would excuse me, I have work to do.”

Sansa shot up and stomped out the room without so much of a goodbye ( _though she did wait to be excused at least,_ Ned thought), as quick as her mother with none of the grace. The rest rose and offered their congratulations, Arya playfully pummeling Jon’s arm and Robb placing a hand on his shoulder. Jon wasn’t expecting Robb to be taking the news so well. There was a mirthful light in Robb’s eyes that said he had known all along, and probably had had something to do with it, even.

Jon stood last, looking around in quiet shock. How could he have expected to inherit anything? And now… He looked to the spacious office that was his father’s, modern and steel-gray. He looked to the windows, encompassing an entire wall and unveiling the busy streets and metropolitan skyline. He looked to the Stark Enterprises emblem that was immortalized on the wall, in gray steel.

And now everything was his.

Ned was shuffling his way out, ushering his children to exit as well.

Then when Ned was nearly out the door, he turned back, as if he had forgotten something.

“Oh, and Jon—prepare yourself.” Jon looked at him for the first time, realization flooding his mind.

“You have your first interview as CEO tomorrow.”

-

Rain it did, just as your roommate had predicted. It started as a simple drizzle, before maturing into a respectable downpour by the time you had got off the train. There was a park nearer to your apartment, but a quick web search showed you there was also one near to Stark Enterprises. You might as well get a good look at the place, you supposed.

There weren’t any buses nearby, not in this sophisticated part of the city where everyone owned a Tesla, a Mercedes at worst. Luckily, the headquarters to Stark Enterprises was little less than three blocks away if you took a detour through the local park. Unluckily, you’d have to bear the march of the rain all under the cover of your black umbrella.

You knew you shouldn’t stay out for too long, but the atmosphere was so peaceful. You breathed in the cool, humid air, feeling it wash in and wash out of your lungs. It managed to take the anxiety you felt with it. Where there would’ve been people running along the trail, dogs scampering alongside them, and babies cooing in strollers, the place was barren. It was absent of anything besides the fall of rain, drops sluicing down tree trunks to flooding puddles. You were alone.

Or so you thought.

A figure caught your eye, the only darkness in the pale greens of the area.

You turned your head, blinking. It was a man.

He sat on a park bench, elbows on his knees as his fingers were laced together in a bridge at where you supposed his mouth would be. You supposed because around his face was obscured, a curtain of dark curls falling around it, weighed down by the rainfall. His clothes were clearly seeping with rainwater, his button up clinging to his skin. Your heart jumped at thinking how anyone could stand the rain soaking their body so thoroughly, into their clothing, with the air so cool as it was. Even if it was the shy beginnings of fall, and not the lethal winter this part of country was known for, surely that couldn’t be good for him. But the man didn’t seem to be bothered.

You walked carefully towards him, his back to you. It was a wonder the mud didn’t squelch under your boots, the grass forming a kind bed under your feet. The figure grew closer and closer as you tread. When you were directly at his back, you considered not saying anything. He couldn’t even tell you were behind him, it seemed, so you could definitely just turn and be on your merry way to check out Stark Enterprises. You knew you could be painfully awkward, so avoiding social interaction when you could was a route usually much taken. But you cursed yourself for caring too much about the welfare of strangers.

You shifted your umbrella forward to catch him under its protection, though you were sacrificing half of it. You shivered from the cold pelts of rain against your neck.

Jon bore holes into the ground with his stare, as he had done for an hour. His dark curtain of hair made him blind to the rest of the world. It was an almost comforting seclusion from reality. He had no plans of lifting his head to break the immersion, until he could no longer feel the chilling, but consoling patter of rain on the back of his skull. He blinked almost dumbly, and rose his head.

This man finally showed you his face, him whipping backwards in curiosity. You couldn’t deny the almost inaudible gasp that escaped you. He was handsome, you admitted, in a gritty, sullen, Northern way. His eyes were dark, framed with long lashes. His skin was pale to where dark scruff grew on his chin, cheeks, and upper lip. His eyebrows were furrowed, looking thoughtful. He was _very_ handsome.

And as if the Seven couldn’t be crueler, the wet shirt that he wore clung terribly to his chest. It left little to be imagined, and you quickly averted your eyes from there and back to his face. You still thought about how it had its two first buttons left open, revealing only inches of the smooth, firm build of his chest underneath. _Pervert,_ you scolded yourself.

You also thought about how this man you had definitely seen before, somewhere.

Either way, the stranger was clearly not going to break the silence, so you did. You collected yourself and offered a warm smile.

“You shouldn’t stay in the rain,” you said gently. “You’ll get sick.” _And maybe so will I_ , you thought, trembling soundlessly as your back began to drip.

Jon had seen that, and stood with haste, smoothing out his wet pants, looking from his wet clothes back to you. With his rising, you brought your umbrella back to shield you completely. You almost laughed. He looked perfectly uncomfortable and embarrassed, shifting his weight onto one foot.

“I…” he started. “Thank you.”

He was still under the rain though, so you took out the banana-yellow umbrella in your coat pocket and offered it to him with a small smile.

He took it from your hand, your skin touching one another for a split second. It made some sort of strange feeling in you rise, but it was soon forgotten. You held in a laugh seeing him fidget with the thing, until it fanned out suddenly, almost taking one of his eyes out. You then openly laughed, staring in awe at how a person could be even more uncoordinated than you were.

“I—“ he said, before huffing. “ _Thank you_ ,” he finished, embarrassed.

You shook your head.

“No problem,” you said airily, taking the time to look at your surroundings much more. Your head turned back to him, who mimicked you in surveying the landscape. “What are you doing out here?”

He seemed to be battling with himself, wondering if he should tell you. You tried to make yourself seem the least judgemental you could.

“Thinking,” he finally said.

... How cryptic. But as if you understood, you nodded solemnly.

“Thinking… about?” you said after taking a step forward onto the trail of the park, looking back to invite him to follow. Hell, you could use the company. The man paused, but stepped forward to stand beside you.

You began your tread, him stepping in sync.

He huffed, eyes trailing to the gray sky. His face told you he was trying to form words.

“I… was just given a big responsibility.” You looked to him, his features reflecting internal conflict. “One I never expected to get—one _no one_ expected me to get.” You felt your heart sink—it was clear there was a lot of dark past in his words. You swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. This stranger was clearly holding back on speaking, giving no clear specifications, but the pain was evident. “And since I never expected it… I don’t know if…” He sighed, looking aged. “If I _really_ want it.” He turned to you. “ _Deserve_ it, even.”

This was a lot. You were honestly just expecting him to talk about a hard day at work or trouble with a girlfriend. This … whatever it was, meant a lot to him. You swallowed drily, hoping any advice you gave didn’t ultimately ruin this guy’s life.

“I…” you began, before pausing. You turned to meet his eyes, smiling sadly. “Hey, what’s your name?”

He opened his mouth, before closing it again, choosing to tell the truth.

“… Jon.”

You turned back to the track, spying squirrels scurry their wet way up a tree trunk.

“Well, _Jon_ ,” you said. “Who gave you this… responsibility?”

He looked serious, brows furrowing. “My father.”

You looked at him. “And you trust him, right?”

“Of course,” Jon was quick to say. He looked defensive. “He’s the greatest man I know.”

You smiled, liking how fast he was to rush to his father’s defense. It was charming. He was charming.

“Then,” you said, eyes lowered in thought before rising to meet Jon’s. You stopped walking, and he did as well, facing you in question. “I think… you should trust him in this, as well.”

Jon opened his mouth but you beat him to it. “If there are people who want to stop you or would hate you—let them.” You snorted. “Clearly, in your father’s eyes, you _deserved_ it.” Jon’s eyes widened with clarity, before falling to the ground. You playfully punched his arm, even though you had just met this person and probably had no right to do so. “Be so good they can’t deny you’re the best person for it!”

Jon’s lips almost, _almost_ , curled into an actual grin.

He grinned like that for three seconds, before it felt into a troubled line once more. Jon tried to retort again, as if to justify his shortcomings. “But my brother—he’s been groomed for it for _years_ —“

“And your dad chose you,” you said, smirking. Jon’s mouth closed shut. “As for actually _wanting_ it,” you trailed. “I think only you would know the answer.”

Jon’s eyes met yours again, staring at you with a glint of determination and duty that seemed to already have the answer. Your heart squeezed, and you wanted to rip your warming cheeks off your face. You turned away quickly, so he wouldn’t see your flush. You started walking again, without having to look back to know this Jon character would follow.

It was a nice silence, and you could tell Jon needed time to think. When you had gotten to the park gates, unintentionally, you turned.

“You know,” you said with a smirk. “Yellow doesn’t quite fit you.”

Jon blinked to you under the yellow shade of his borrowed umbrella.

“You’re kinda brooding.” Jon threw you the closest thing he had to a pout and you laughed again.

You gingerly took the handle of his umbrella into your hands, slowly so you wouldn’t alarm him. You traded umbrellas, placing the grip of your black one into his hands. You curled his fingers around it yourself, before wondering why on earth you had done a thing like that. You _really_ wondered why after looking up and realizing how close you were to each other. You were close enough to see the brown of his dark eyes, close enough to count the hairs on his jaw.

You stepped back with a clumsy smile, allowing some breathing room. He seemed to relax as well, a bit flustered.

You appraised him, looking him up and down appreciatively.

“Yeah—black’s definitely more your color.”

In a stunning moment of cockiness, Jon’s lip quirked. Your heart jumped.

“So I’ve been told.”

Jon walked forward, under the threshold of the park gates’ arc of leaves when he turned back.

“I… thank you,” he said, a repeat of earlier, but his voice containing a much deeper gratitude. Your throat was a little dry, but you played it off. You shook your head and waved.

“N-no biggie.”

He nodded and left, fingers lingering around one of the iron bars of the open gate. And with your roommate’s umbrella.

You stood there, under the pouring rain, wondering why you had been acting so natural around a stranger, or why your heart had been jumping like this the whole while. You turned away, no longer in the mood to go to Stark Enterprises. You wanted to go home, Jon's brooding face in your head. On the way to the station, you also wondered if you’d ever see him again.

-

Why, of course you would.

You sat in Stark Enterprises, in the CEO’s office. It was sleek and cool, but modest in the way you knew the Stark family was known to be. You know it’d be a bit of disappointment for your roommate if she had been able to come. She adored the lush décor of the Tyrells and the glamour of the Lannisters when she had interviewed them. You kind of liked it. Simple. Nothing more than needed, but still noble. It was fitting of him.

You should've felt anxious, feeling too drab and small for a professional, cold place like this. You were squirming in your seat, though not from nerves. You had no nerves at all. You had been anticipating this interview ever since last night when you did a quick prep via the internet and Kate’s tutoring. Your studies yielded candid pictures of the Stark family, and always in the corner of the picture you saw a very familiar face. For a reason you couldn’t decipher, you hadn’t been able to get that face out your head.

The doors opened behind you, silence-shattering and letting in a burst of air. You turned in your seat, smiling at seeing him walk in.

“My apologies for being late—“ Jon started, hair tied back and hands fiddling with his suit jacket buttons. He looked up from them, eyes landing on you, and he stopped in his tracks.

He stared at you, mouth agape in confusion. Your smile widened, and you found you enjoyed Jon’s sparse expressions very much. After a few seconds of silence, the doors falling to a close behind him, you said, “You stole my umbrella.”

At the words, his shock melted into mirth. His eyes creased as he smiled, walking wordlessly to his seat at the grand desk before you. You followed him with your eyes. When he sat down, you noticed he seemed much more composed, confident, than yesterday. You wondered if it was presumptuous to assume it was because your small pep talk.

Jon leaned forward, fingers laced on the surface of the desk.

“Well, then,” he said, “should we begin?”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my God, lol, I don't know how to end these things.  
> I hope this was okay and that you enjoyed at least some of it, Maybelene!


End file.
